


Digital Love

by obscureliteraryreference (eponine_667), thisisaboutnotbeinginclass



Series: Avenging the Death of Style [2]
Category: Glee, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Fluff, Gen, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponine_667/pseuds/obscureliteraryreference, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisaboutnotbeinginclass/pseuds/thisisaboutnotbeinginclass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt had been under the impression that Mr Stark built a new AI, and that is who Kurt has been talking to for the past few weeks. </p><p>Turns out, Hawkeye just likes vents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digital Love

**Author's Note:**

> So, we had this whole idea about Kurt Hummel going to work for Tony Stark. Maybe he needed a new job after the Battle of New York; maybe Tony caught him writing a hilarious fashion blog about the Avengers; maybe he was Pepper Potts' personal stylist for a while. Maybe all three. There are many, many possibilities here. We have lots of ideas about it all; we have yet to write all of them down. 
> 
> This is one idea we did write down. And then it turned out too adorable to keep to ourselves.
> 
> NB: Title refers to the song by Daft Punk.

Kurt was grabbing some lunch in the kitchen upstairs, near the tower's main common areas, when the sky over the Upper West Side suddenly exploded. Alarms started screaming through the tower, calling the Avengers to work, and Kurt, startled, nearly dropped his salad all over the kitchen floor.

His initial burst of terror eased into general anxiety. He still wasn't used to the alarms - wasn't used to the presence of the Avengers in the tower full-time - but every time the alarms sounded, it got easier to deal with. They didn't go off in his apartment, except in the hypothetical-so-far situation that the Tower was breached. 

Kurt abandoned his food to stare at the fight through the common area's windows. It had been a while since New York had been attacked, and it was alarming to be able to see the fight from so close. Hopefully this wouldn't be another invasion; surely they would tell everyone or send out more alarms if it was an unmanageable threat?

Kurt's phone rang, making him startle again. It was Pepper. "Hello, Kurt, are you seeing this?"

"Yes! It's unbelievable." He narrowed his eyes at the melee going on, and said darkly, "You know, I used to think it'd be better to be able to see the fighting as it happened, rather than just worrying about it? But I think I take that back."

Pepper hummed. "I know what you mean. Would you like to come down to my office for a cup of tea? I don't think I'll be getting any work done for a little while."

Kurt couldn’t really tell whether Pepper was asking him for company, or whether she thought he needed company. "I'd love to. I'm in the main kitchen, shall I bring down some of the Da Hong Pao Mr Stark brought back from China?"

"Please," Pepper agreed.

********

Almost four hours later, the fight was over. It had turned out to be a failed experiment by some scientist, that resulted in explosions and some of the cars near Central Park becoming Transformers? Or something? Kurt was uncertain of the details, but anyway, it was over, and the Avengers had returned to the tower apparently unscathed.

Now, Kurt was attempting to channel his post-crisis adrenaline into the seams of Tony's new shirts. The nearness of the fight had reminded him unpleasantly of the invasion, and while he was glad the Avengers had won the day - and of course they would, he’d never doubted them - he felt the need to meditate over some fabric, to exorcise the last of the nail-biting anxiety.

He'd cut the shirts, seven of them, and pieced them together days ago, sewing them together on and off amidst his other work. So far tonight, he’d made more progress than he had over the past week together, and three of the shirts were almost complete apart from the buttons and cuffs. He was working on a fourth when Natasha stalked into his workshop. 

He looked up from his work; something about her mood immediately made him nervous.

"Excuse me, Kurt," she said icily. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need Clint."

Kurt blinked. What?

"Clint?" she said, sounding dangerous. She was glaring at the ceiling, and if she'd been anyone other than Natasha, Kurt might have laughed at how completely bizarre it looked. As it was, he was just extremely confused.

"Clint!" she said, louder, at a volume that actually approached a yell. 

As reluctant as he was to have her anger turn on him, Kurt wasn't sure what Clint could have done to enrage her like this, and he felt surprisingly protective of the AI. He gathered his courage and politely asked, "Sorry, Natasha, what's going on?"

She rolled her eyes, and kind of ignored him. "Clint, get your ass down here." She'd stopped yelling, but she was obviously still angry.

Kurt frowned in surprise. "Wait, what?" he said. _Get down here_? What on earth.

"...No," came from the ceiling. If an AI could ever be said to sound like he was pouting, Clint's sulky tone certainly gave that impression.

"I will tell everyone about what happened in Bangkok," Natasha threatened. "Specifically, I will tell Tony."

There was a pause, and then, terrifyingly, there was a faint noise in the vent up near the ceiling.

The cover popped from the wall. 

A fully grown man slithered out, boots first. He was wearing an Avengers uniform, and with the bare arms, Kurt realized it was Hawkeye. 

The man lost his balance as he landed on the carpet, doubling over in what looked like pain. Natasha watched, unmoved, as the man regained his balance and staggered back to lean against the wall. 

When he raised his head to meet Natasha's glare, his careless grin contrasted with his broken nose, the cut on his forehead, and the bruises on his jaw. Kurt could see other bruises on his arms, grazed elbows, and from the way Hawkeye's arm curled around his torso, he might have broken or bruised ribs.

Kurt _stared_. 

"Medical?" Natasha said, and her voice was sweet but it sounded like a threat. 

"No," Hawkeye denied, and his grin sharpened. Kurt looked between them, wide-eyed.

"I will hogtie you and give you to Namor," Natasha said calmly. 

Hawkeye looked at her speculatively, as if assessing her resolve. She raised an eyebrow at him. It was one of the more terrifying games of chicken Kurt had seen. 

Then Hawkeye broke eye contact and sighed, obviously conceding. Bizarrely, he smiled warmly at Kurt as Natasha took his arm and started dragging him out. "Sorry, kid," he said. Natasha nodded at Kurt, who managed to nod back at her, even though he was fairly sure he wasn't actually breathing.

When they were gone, he stood there for fully five minutes, staring at the door that'd closed behind them. 

There was a man in his _ceiling_. There was a _man_ in his ceiling. Natasha had just extracted a man - a real live actual _man_ \- from the vent above his workshop, and not only was that man Hawkeye, but that man was also _Clint_.

Oh my god, he thought, appalled. Clint the AI was not an AI! 

Tony hadn't built a new AI and named it Clint? Kurt tried not to hyperventilate. The real Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye, apparently liked to hang out in people's ceilings and talk to them? What on earth!

All this time, Kurt had thought Tony'd just named the new AI 'Clint', as, like, a Welcome-to-the-Tower gift for Barton when he moved in. Or, to be a dick. Or to punk everyone or _whatever_. 

But apparently he hadn't. Apparently Hawkeye just liked to hang out in air conditioning vents. _God_.

Kurt dropped the shirt he'd been working on, and stood up from his work table. "Jarvis? I'm going out for some air." 

He barely heard Jarvis reply; he was focused on collecting his phone, wallet and coat, and getting the hell out of this godforsaken tower before he let his emotions get the best of him. 

The elevator ride to the ground floor seemed to take years. Kurt joined the flood of Stark Industries employees leaving the lobby, and dodged the phalanx of reporters and paparazzi that always appeared after the Avengers responded to an emergency within city limits. He managed to make it a few blocks away before he started hyperventilating. He didn't stop walking, though; the further from the Tower he could get, the better.

Which gave him an idea. He pulled out his phone and called Santana. He heard the click as she picked up, and before she could even say anything he'd already blurted out, "Oh my god, _he’s not a robot_!"

There was a pause. "What?"

Kurt took a deep breath. His hands were shaking and he felt like he might throw up. "Sorry, I just." He took another deep breath or two. "I really, really, _really_ need a drink right now."

"...Are you high?" Santana asked. "What's up with the robots?" She sounded confused, and while that was perhaps understandable, he just did not have the time.

"Oh my god," Kurt wailed. "Everything is just so, so ridiculous, Santana. Please, I need to come over and drink. Please?"

"Honey, are you--"

He cut her off. "I don't care what plans you have to cancel!" he hissed. "I am going to have a breakdown, okay? I am not even joking. This job, this tower, these _people_. I am losing my goddamn mind! I need to not have to live in that place for just one night! And I need to get drunk, okay? So drunk. I'm coming to stay with you, and I need you to get me drunk. I'll be at the subway in about five minutes. The subway! I'm going to actually get on the subway, Santana."

"Wow, you must be really desperate," she said dryly. "Are you bringing supplies for this bender, or do you expect me to finance your descent into madness?"

Kurt pressed a hand to his head, which had started aching. "The only way I will descend into madness is if I _don't_ have a drink. And I need that drink as soon as possible, so if you could go to the liquor store while I am in transit, I will pay you back. I need...I need so much tequila, San, I am not kidding."

"I can tell you're not kidding," she said, and she sounded amused, but also a little concerned. "Tell you what, I'll throw in for margarita mix, we can make it a party."

"I love you," he said fervently. "Seriously, this is just, ugh, this is the limit. I'm going mad."

"What _happened_?" she demanded. 

“God, I just--” A thought struck him, and he stopped. He stopped walking too, and nearly got steamrollered by some asshole in a suit. He stared at his phone.

His _Stark_ phone. God, could Tony listen in on him??

“I’ll tell you when I get there,” he said, feeling strangled. “I have to hang up now.”

She agreed, distantly, and Kurt, holding the phone between two fingers, gingerly placed it back in his bag like it was a bomb that might go off.

The subway was still a block and a half away. Kurt felt like he might not make it.

The thought of one of Santana’s margaritas, blended with ice and in the biggest glass she had, gave him strength. He rallied, and braced himself for the journey.

********

Forty cramped, smelly, noisy minutes and two trains later, Kurt was almost clipped by a cyclist on the intersection of Myrtle Avenue and DeKalb. The jerk had the gall to swear at him over his shoulder - honestly, as if the day could get worse! Kurt kept his temper and made a beeline for the sanctuary of Santana’s apartment. 

She met him on the outside stoop, liquor store bag in hand, and he threw himself at her. Fortunately, she caught him and hugged him, a tight squeeze that made everything feel just a little bit better. “Oh, I’m such an idiot,” he moaned.

“Awww, bunny. You’d better come in and tell me all about it,” she said, mocking yet also sympathetic. He wrinkled his nose at her, then stopped when he realized it probably made the nickname more appropriate.

“Is that my tequila?” he said pathetically, as they went into the building.

“Do you think I’d break a promise like that?” she demanded, offended. 

“I knew I came to the right place,” he said gratefully.

********

An hour later, Kurt was sitting in a chair at Santana’s kitchen table. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, his head was tilted back, and he was staring up at the light fitting. He’d drunk two very large margaritas. There was another one on the table in front of him, and he was starting to feel pleasantly hazy around the edges of his brain. 

He’d had to drink a whole margarita before he could bear to explain anything, and his winding, confused description of the day, and the past month, had taken a while.

Now, Santana and Emily, her girlfriend, were staring at him from across the table. 

“So, like,” Emily said thoughtfully, frowning in concentration. “What the hell was this dude doing in your ceiling, again?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt replied. He wanted to laugh, or possibly cry.

“I can’t believe he didn’t just tell you who he was. Who talks to someone from a vent and doesn’t introduce themselves?” Santana asked, baffled. The irony of her criticizing anyone else’s etiquette wasn’t lost on Kurt, but he was too distressed to enjoy it.

“I don’t know,” Kurt repeated, a hint of a wail coming into his voice. He tipped forwards to rest his head on the table.

“Do you think Stark knew he was there?” Santana asked.

Kurt raised his head to say, “I don’t know! I don’t know, and you know the worst part of all of this? I don’t know if I’m the idiot for not realizing the new voice in the ceiling wasn’t an AI, or if he’s a creepy bastard for being in my ceiling and talking to me and not telling me he wasn’t a robot!” He threw his hands up for emphasis, then slumped to cradle his head in his hands.

“Pretty sure you’re an idiot for working somewhere that _voices in the ceiling_ are normal at all,” Santana remarked, sounding judgmental.

“Right?” Kurt agreed. “I swear to god, working for Tony Stark has totally ruined my all of my boundaries. In any other job, any voice in the ceiling that watches you work all day would mean a visit to either building security or a psychiatrist. But in my job? Nooooooooo.”

“Your life is horrifying,” Santana said, and he literally couldn’t remember a time when she’d sounded more honest. Then she said, “Do the robots watch you shower?”

Kurt stared at her, wide-eyed.

“Just keep drinking,” she advised. He chugged the rest of his margarita in appalled silence.

********

“Dial Kurt,” Tony instructed, and Jarvis popped up the little icon in the corner of the screen to show that he was dialing. The line rang for ages, almost went to voicemail, but then it was picked up and a hoarse, irritated voice said, "What." 

Tony raised his eyebrows. He knew it was early, but that kind of tone didn’t seem warranted. “Good morning to you too,” he commented. Kurt made an incoherently angry noise, so Tony moved on. “Where the hell are you, cupcake? I came down to talk about my suit for the gala next month, _like you asked me to_ , I am totally responding to your feedback that I’m hard to manage, and here I am, looking at an empty workshop and a whole pile of half-made shirts. Jarvis says you’re not even in your apartment, you left yesterday, what, you didn't want to hang around and see how I was after we thrashed the autobots?"

There was a moment of silence, and Tony eyed some truly awful fabric on one workbench, off to one side, while waited for the response. Hopefully that wasn’t something he was going to have to wear.

Then Kurt yawned into the phone. Yawned, seriously, Tony was astonished. He didn’t think the kid had ever betrayed any bodily functions like that before. 

"Jarvis said you were fine," came the mumbled voice, after some seriously adorable post-yawn kitten noises. 

Tony frowned. It wasn’t that early, was it? Kurt was usually working by now. "Seriously, pumpkin, where the hell are you? Fucking Bushwick, what’s going on?"

"I knew you were spying on me,” came the accusation. “Stupid phone."

“Excuse me, my tech is not stupid, and I only tracked the GPS this morning because you weren’t here and I was _worried_ ,” Tony protested. His shoulders felt tight, the way they had when Jarvis told him Kurt had left, and hadn’t come back overnight.

Kurt sighed again. Then he said, "I'm at my friend's house. I wanted a drink."

"But there are drinks in Manhattan. There are drinks right here in this tower,” Tony said, baffled. Seriously, Bushwick. What the hell.

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then there was a slight snore.

“Are you _falling asleep_?” Kurt murmured something unintelligible. "Kurt? Kurt, hey! What the hell's the matter with you?"

There was a shuffling of fabric, and Kurt made an irritated noise. "I’m asleep, Tony, we were drinking, it’s early, I don't know what to tell you," he said. 

"Why the hell did you have to go all the way to Hipsterville for a drink? There's drinks here." Tony hated repeating himself.

Kurt snorted, laughed a bit, and said, “There’s drinks here too. Lots of drinks. We had a lot of tequila, Tony.”

“You’re still a bit drunk, aren’t you?”

“Mmm, probably,” Kurt agreed. He sounded happy enough, like he was warm and comfortable.

“Okay, princess, you’ve had your fun, that’s fair. This mid-week drinking thing is a bad idea, though, take if from someone who knows.”

“Sir, it’s Saturday,” Jarvis interrupted. 

“Wait, what? It is?” Tony asked, startled. Where the fuck had the week gone?

Kurt, on the other end of the phone, was laughing at him again. “Tony, it’s Saturday,” he cooed. “Take the day off, I’m going to take the day off, we should both totally do that. No work, no avengering, no robots. I’ll come back to Manhattan when I’m awake, okay?”

"Let me send a car for you," Tony protested. 

“I can take the subway, Mr Stark.” Kurt sounded a little more awake now, but not much.

Tony ignored that piece of garbage. “I know, I’ll send Steve! Steve and a car. Steve loves Brooklyn.”

"Is Steve coming out here anyway?" Kurt asked, and Tony identified a dangerous edge under the sweetness in his voice. "If so, I would love to meet up with him and we could go back together. But you will not make Steve come out just to escort me back to the city, seriously, Tony."

"Steve doesn't mind--"

"I mind," Kurt insisted, voice loud enough to be called strident. 

There was telltale rustling of bed covers, and then a voice - a female voice, what the hell - said, "Who're you talking to?" She sounded too close, close enough to be lying in the bed with him. 

Tony was too surprised to speak, but he heard Kurt say, "My boss. He's trying to make me come in to work on a Saturday."

"Freakin' psychopath," the strange woman said, and hey, Tony resented that. "Tell him no, and then we can have pancakes."

"Yes! Pancakes! Or chilaquiles." And that wasn’t Kurt, that was another woman! His beautifully effeminate and seriously gay tailor was in bed with two women??

“Mmm, chilaquiles,” the first woman murmured.

"Look, can I go?” Kurt said calmly, returning to Tony. “I want to sleep for at least another three hours before I have to face the outside world.”

"You--you--" Tony spluttered. "I can't believe you! Drinking and _girls_ , Kurt? I feel like I don't know who you are anymore!"

Kurt yawned again, right into his phone. "We can talk about it when I get back, if you like." His voice was getting that sleepy edge again. 

"I'll send Steve. He can confront you and your women, and you can break his heart in person."

Kurt murmured indistinctly, then ended the call. 

Tony was torn between concern and sheer delight. He wanted to tell absolutely everyone he’d ever met, and yet, some of the worry that had driven him to call Kurt in the first place still remained.

Jarvis had been hesitant when he let Tony know about Kurt’s abrupt departure from the Tower the previous evening. He’d said Kurt seemed upset for no reason that he could determine, and that he hadn’t returned overnight.

Tony had ignored the impulse to panic, and calmly turned on the GPS. Then, he’d ignored the impulse to temporarily re-purpose one of his low-orbit satellites to find out exactly what Kurt was doing, whether he was alright, whether he was with anyone Tony could run through the system, facial recognition was so easy these days. He’d ignored that impulse, though, totally suppressed it, and simply asked Jarvis to dial the phone.

He should tell Pepper. She’d probably be proud of him. 

Now, Tony wandered thoughtfully out of Kurt’s workshop and headed for the elevator. He was reassured that Kurt was safe, that he was comfortable - probably very comfortable! he thought, amused - and he didn’t need Tony to ride to his rescue. 

However, the fact that he’d gone out and gotten drunk in the first place was out of character. Sure, Kurt was young, he went out, but he usually left notes with Jarvis about when he’d be back. And the subway? The only person who hated the subway more than Tony was Kurt. And what if something happened between here and Bushwick? Tony couldn’t stand the thought if it. No, Kurt could have his fun, and then he’d be escorted safely back to the Tower. Tony would send a car to the address on the GPS in one hour, so it would be waiting for Kurt when he woke up again.

Tony then gave some serious thought to asking Steve to go, too. He'd been joking, but it wasn’t actually a bad idea. That way if something happened, there would be someone there who was more than capable of protecting Kurt from the worst. 

Hell, Steve would probably suggest it if Tony so much as mentioned his concerns. 

Shaking his head, Tony dismissed the idea. He’d send a driver over, and Kurt would be fine. They’d beaten the autobots, fucking Reed could probably manage not to fuck up so badly again for at least a day, and there were no threats on the radar. Kurt would make it back safely. 

Tony’s concern over the situation didn’t dissipate, though, and as he got off the elevator onto the workshop level, he decided that it couldn’t hurt to take a look at the video footage, just a little, just to make sure it was really nothing.

Ten minutes later, he stormed out of the workshop towards Medical, ready to tear Barton and Romanoff apart. 

********

Clint was propped up on the edge of a bed, getting his clothes on and quite clearly leaving against medical advice. Natasha was there, too, but she seemed resigned.

They both looked up like startled cats when Tony burst in. “What the hell, you’ve been spying on my tailor?” he said angrily.

Clint, frozen with his pants halfway up his legs, said, “...uh…”

Tony waited for a response. “Well?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t spying on him?” Clint hazarded. He straightened up quickly and zipped. It’d be better to have his pants on for this, probably. 

“You’ve been spending twenty-two hours a day in the vent above his workshop! What the fuck is that if it’s not spying?”

“Stark, you need to back off,” Natasha warned.

“The hell I do,” Tony said, too outraged to notice he was taking his life in his hands. “Kurt was so freaked out he left the building after you crawled out of your fucking hidey-hole. What the hell am I going to tell him when he gets back? Oh, I’m sorry a dude moved into your ceiling, I bet you thought you’d be safe from that kind of shit here, but hey, the Tower is only one step above a slum when you think about it?”

“He was never not safe!” Clint exploded. “He knew I was there, we’ve been talking for weeks! If it freaked him out to have me there, all he had to do was say something!”

“Then why the fuck did he leave yesterday and _not come back_?” Tony demanded. “Why did he go out to get drunk?”

“Because it was Friday?” Clint hazarded.

“No,” Tony said flatly. “I’ve known this kid for years, and I know what he looks like when he’s upset. So what I want to know now is, why has a kid who’s lived with _me_ for two years, who’s had to deal with all of _my shit_ for this whole time, why is it _you two_ who finally drive him to drinking and casual sex? Huh?”

“I don’t know!” Clint insisted, baffled. “I don’t remember much of what happened yesterday.” He hesitated, shirt in his hands. “Casual sex? What…”

Natasha interrupted. “Stark, we didn’t do anything to Kurt. Clint came out of the vent and then we left, that’s it.”

“I’m aware of that. I’ve seen the footage. But if it was all so innocent, why the fuck did he get so freaked out about it?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” Clint enunciated. “If I freaked him out, I’m sorry, but he knew I was there! He knows my name, he knows I like Sinatra and Steve McQueen movies and he knows he’s gotten me addicted to Project fucking Runway, alright? Because that’s what we’ve been talking about.”

Tony glared at him. 

“Seriously! I have no idea why he’d be freaked out!”

Tony kept glaring, but he seemed to realize he wasn’t going to get anything else out of them. He huffed angrily, then turned to leave. 

Then he turned back and pointed at Clint. “Stay the hell out of his vents. Stay away from his workshop, stay away from his apartment, do not go near him unless it’s to apologize for being a fucking creeper. _Capisce_?”

Clint scowled at him. “Fuck you, Stark. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tony glowered. “Kurt’s got a fucking high tolerance for bullshit, Barton. He’s not the type to get upset over nothing,” he said, and Clint winced. “Leave him alone.”

After a moment, Clint nodded jerkily, an unhappy expression on his face.

Tony left, and Natasha whirled on Clint. “What’s he talking about? Do you know why Kurt would be upset?”

“No, seriously, Natasha, I have no idea,” Clint said, dropping his defensiveness now that Tony was gone. In its place was genuine concern. “I really, really can’t think of anything we ever talked about that would have been creepy.”

She frowned. “All you did yesterday was climb out of the vent. Maybe he was upset that you were hurt?”

“Maybe?” Clint agreed doubtfully. “But Tony seemed to think it was really unusual, and wouldn't Kurt have gotten upset about Tony’s injuries before, if he was going to?”

She hummed in agreement, and sat next to him on the bed, thinking.

“So it’s not the conversations, and it’s probably not the injuries.” He examined and discarded possible options. “Maybe it was the way I crawled out of the vent? Maybe he didn’t realize they were big enough for a dude, and he was freaked out that there’s a point of ingress into his workshop?”

“Wouldn’t he just go and harass Stark to fix it? Why would that make him leave the Tower?”

Clint shrugged. “Someone crawled out of a vent and attacked him, once? PTSD?”

She made a face at him that meant, ‘you’re an idiot.’

Clint thought hard about their interactions, about all the times he’d spoken to Kurt. He thought about particular turns of phrase, about the timing of conversations. He thought about Kurt’s responses, and whether he’d ever been upset or startled, except for that first time Clint spoke, a voice coming out of the ceiling. Kurt had actually been pretty understanding, and surprisingly un-creeped, now that Clint thought about it. He supposed that when you’d lived with Jarvis for two years, a new voice in the ceiling wasn’t that much of a shock.

Realization dawned. No, it couldn’t be, could it?

He considered the evidence carefully. “Shit,” he muttered.

Natasha looked at him, and raised a dangerous eyebrow. “Clint?” Her voice was a warning, that if he had done something, he should prepare to pay for it.

“No, it’s not. It wasn’t.” He faltered. Then he took a deep breath, and said, amused, “Tasha, I think he thought I was one of Stark’s robots.”

She stared at him. “ _What_?”

“I never climbed out of that vent before, I always came out in the common rooms. And it’s possible that we’ve never actually met face-to-face before yesterday?” he admitted.

She made a skeptical face, so Clint started counting things off on his fingers. “He never talked about food, he never really talked much about stuff that happened outside the tower. He over-explained things sometimes. And...and I never told him who I was,” Clint admitted. “I told him my first name, but that was it.”

Her skepticism resolved into an appalled look, then resigned acceptance. “Oh my god, Clint.”

“Hey, it was an accident.”

“An accident? You convinced Stark’s tailor you weren’t actually a human!” 

“ _Accidentally_ ,” Clint stressed.

“Honestly, Barton.” Natasha rolled her eyes. Then she said, “I don’t know who should be more embarrassed by this, him or you. You, for spending so much time in the ceiling that someone actually mistook you for an inanimate system, or him, for making the mistake despite the fact that you’re clearly the least intelligent AI ever.”

Clint frowned. “Hey, I resent that.”

Natasha sighed. “We need to tell Stark. Hopefully he’ll find it amusing.”

“It’s pretty hilarious,” Clint offered.

“Not at Kurt’s expense, it’s not,” Natasha warned him. “In case the little storm in a teacup we just experienced didn’t clue you in, Stark is extremely fond of Kurt. He won’t like the idea that Kurt was embarrassed enough by this to leave his Tower. He won’t like it that Kurt felt embarrassed at all. Don’t act like it was a prank, Clint, Stark will resent it.”

“No, okay, I won’t.” Clint hesitated. “I really, really didn’t mean to upset him.”

“I know.”

********

TBC...

 

EPILOGUE:

“You really thought Clint was an AI?” Tony asked him, squinting slightly in confusion.

Kurt’s shoulders tightened, and he felt his face heat. “Can you please drop this?”

“Oh, come on, cupcake, I just mean, you really think so little of my programming skills?” Tony sounded genuinely curious, and slightly hurt.

“It wasn’t about your programming skills,” Kurt replied defensively. “You know I think your creations are amazing, I mean, I have _met_ Jarvis.”

“Jarvis is offended too!” Tony insisted. “You compared him to Clint!”

“Oh, Jarvis, I’m sorry,” Kurt said, even as Jarvis contradicted Tony with, “I am not offended, Mr Hummel, despite what Sir would tell you.”

“It wasn’t about the programming,” Kurt added quickly, before Tony and Jarvis could start bickering about it.

“Then what was it about?” Tony asked, after a pause. “Why on earth did you think I’d make an AI like Clint?”

“Mr Stark...” Kurt hesitated, then decided to be honest. “Mr Stark, last week, I watched Dummy break a blender while he was making a shake for you. Then I watched him pass you the blender parts while you were working on the engine of the Flathead, and you incorporated them into the transmission!”

“I was seventeen and drunk when I made Dummy! And if I can build a car from a blender, that should impress you more, not less!”

“It’s very impressive, but I just thought that if you did take it into your head to make an AI and name it Clint, you _could_. I knew he wasn’t like Jarvis, I just thought you were doing something different, and I guess...well, I just thought you were punking everyone!” Kurt explained, feeling a combination of defensive and sheepish.

Tony made a considering face. "Oh," was all he said for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said. He couldn't bring himself to look up from his workbench. After a long moment, he added, "I liked him."

"...You liked him?" Tony sounded skeptical.

"I liked talking to him. I thought it was amazing that you could create something so human, and with such a distinctive personality," he admitted softly. "I mean, I already knew you could, because of Jarvis, but I was impressed that the new one was so different. And when he talked to me and asked weird questions, I just thought he was learning."

"He was," Tony said. "I mean, he would have been. They're learning systems."

"I know,” Kurt replied. 

"I could do it, if you wanted," Tony said. "With you as it's teacher, I'd be interested to see what it’d grow up to be." He flashed Kurt an appealing grin.

Kurt finally met his eyes and smiled back. Then he asked, "Can I name it Clint?"

Tony looked dismayed, and Kurt laughed.

"I don't need you to make me an AI, Mr Stark, and I think if you make one for anyone it should be...well, I don't know why you'd make one, but I don't want one as a gift. They're too...it'd be like giving me a person," he confessed.

"Yeah, I feel that way about them too," Tony agreed. After a moment, he added, "I'm glad you’d take the time to talk to an AI, if there was one. You have different things to teach than I do."

"Should I take that as a hint, Sir?" Jarvis asked, humor in his voice.

"You? Pfft, you're far too old to learn from Kurt. Too set in your ways," Tony said. 

"He is not," Kurt protested. "Jarvis, if you decide you want singing lessons, don't hesitate to ask."

"What-- _Singing lessons_? Oh my god, please don’t teach my AI to sing," Tony protested. 

"How do you feel about showtunes, Jarvis?" Kurt asked placidly, ignoring Tony completely. 

"Intrigued, Mr Hummel," Jarvis replied. 

Tony put his head in his hands and groaned.


End file.
